I never knew what she was doing.
She was working on it for years.
I never understood why she was crying.
Why her writing brought her to tears.
All I knew was that I loved her,
But that didn't make it go away.
The sadness she felt while writing,
grew more and more each day.
My father never knew her suffering;
Our pastor never knew her plight.
We never understood her hurting;
but it all came clear one night.
As I went to tell her I loved her;
As I did many times before.
There was a letter with my name on it;
In a basket by her door.
She told me how much she loved me.
She told me it was not my fault.
She said she never meant to hurt me;
and without her I was better off.
At that moment my life ended;
But the puzzle finally came together.
All the years through her writing and suffering;
she was composing her suicide letter.